On the roof of his rooming house, Joe Fernwright waited, lunch pail in hand, for the rapid-transit hover blimp to arrive. The cold air nipped and touched him; he shivered. It'll show up any time now, Joe informed himself. Except that it'll be full. And so it won't stop; it'll blipple on by, crammed to the brim...

He had become accustomed to walking. As in every other field the government had failed miserably in the matter of public transportation...

"I give up," the man next to him said... The man pushed his way through the throng of those waiting for the hover blimp...